by Lyn Cote
Breathing hard, the man was having a hard time speaking. “I ran down the street, looking, and then up here.” He bent, bracing his hands on his knees, panting. “Come.” He motioned. “The laundress saw it all.”
Honor signed this and grabbed Samuel’s hand, pulling him toward the door. They followed the innkeeper down the narrow flight of stairs, through the dimly lit common room—eliciting surprised looks from the few men sitting there, including Sinclair Hewitt—then through the kitchen and out the back door.
In the small rear garden opening onto the alleyway, Honor saw a large, rawboned black woman sitting on a wooden chair, bent with her head in her hands, moaning. “Oh, Lord, Lord, have mercy.”
The innkeeper sank onto another chair against the back wall of the inn. “Tell them what happened. Quick, girl.”
The woman looked up and began wringing her hands. “Oh, ma’am, it was awful. Two men, two white men, come walkin’ up the alley. Your maid, she was talking to me while I worked, and the little boy, he was playing with a ball.”
The laundress suppressed a sob, and Honor resisted the urge to shake words from her.
“The men come up to us, and then one grabs your maid and clamps his hand over her mouth, an’ at the same time, the other one hit me over the head with somethin’—a stick … I don’t know. When I open my eyes agin, they both gone. Oh, Lord.”
Honor could barely take this in. Nonetheless, she signed it all to Samuel, who looked aghast. “Why has this happened?” she cried.
Rocking back and forth in distress, the woman looked up. “Don’t you see, ma’am? Slave catchers gone and took her to sell South. She pretty and almost white. They can get three, mebbe four times what a regular gal go for. They don’t care that she got a manumission paper. Oh, Lord, save her.”
Royale, kidnapped. Honor gagged. She turned her head and suffered a sudden bout of retching. Samuel hovered just behind her. She swiftly forced her fingers to sign the rest of the dreadful news. He pulled her against him, cradling her shoulders in his strong hands. She pressed a hand over his fingers and held a handkerchief to her mouth, forcing back the instinct to begin moaning with the other woman.
Her mind rioting with fear, she wrestled herself into control and addressed the innkeeper. “Why would they take Eli?”
“To keep her from calling for help,” the laundress said, each syllable charged with outrage. “They can threaten to hurt the child if she don’t do what they say. That’s the kind of dirty trick people who kidnap free people do. God-forsaking, wicked men.” The woman spit on the sparse wild grass near her bare feet.
“We must alert the watch,” Honor said and signed.
“I already sent a boy for them.” The innkeeper mopped his brow.
“Ma’am, you gotta work fast and find her,” the laundress said, rising. “If they cross the river, you never find her again. She tole me about how you set her free. You gotta save her.” The woman strangled Honor’s arm. “The life they gon’ sell her into ain’t worth livin’.”
Honor felt the urge to retch again and sucked in a deep breath. Father, help. Keep my Royale safe.
A uniformed officer wearing a badge strode up the alley with the messenger boy at his side. “What’s happened here?”
The young officer’s callow face did not reassure Honor. What could one man do against this evil that had come against them? She and Samuel must do more. “Innkeeper, please tell the law officer what has happened and describe Royale and Eli. I am going to get help and start looking.”
“Yes, we need help,” Samuel agreed. “But who?”
Taking Samuel’s hand, Honor ran back into the common room. How could she get help from a town of strangers? She halted in front of the young journalist, exclaiming, “Sinclair Hewitt, slave catchers have kidnapped my maid and our little boy!”
The man leapt from his seat, as did the two other men who had been drinking ale next to him. “When did this happen, ma’am?”
“Just now! I don’t know where to look!”
A voice hailed Honor from across the room. “Honor Cathwell, this is the hand of Providence.” Honor recognized him—the recorded minister from yesterday’s meeting. “We met yesterday. My name is George Coxswain. I just arrived to visit thee and thy husband to talk business, and I heard thy voice. What is this? Thy maid has been snatched?”
Faith leapt within Honor. God had known what wickedness was coming and had already dispatched help. The realization spun her whirling emotions.
Samuel stood behind Honor, one arm around her shoulders, his strength bolstering her, helping her go on.
Honor stifled tears. An emotional outburst would not help. “Yes, and our nephew. We must find them.”
“Describe thy maid,” Coxswain said.
All gazes turned to her.
The authority in the Quaker’s voice galvanized her. “Royale is near my height, very light skin, golden-brown hair, and green eyes. Pretty. Very pretty.” Her voice quavered on the last two words.
“The life they gon’ sell her into ain’t worth livin’.”
He looked shocked. “Thee should have been more careful with her. She’s worth thousands to unscrupulous men.”
“That’s right,” Sinclair Hewitt agreed, gripping George’s hand and introducing himself. “They’ll be heading to the river.” Hewitt turned to the other men. “Will you help find this woman and child?”
A chorus of agreement lifted Honor’s hopes. “Ask anyone you see. Alert everyone. A young mulatta and a dark-haired white boy, three years old.”
Hewitt gripped Honor’s hand with one of his own and rested the other on Samuel’s shoulder. “I’m going to start looking and spread the word. I’ll notify the papers in town. Many eyes will be needed to find the girl. We must find her before these dastards take her across the river.”
“We must find her before nightfall,” George Coxswain amended. “I will alert the meeting. The old will pray and the young will search.” He turned to join Hewitt. The other men hurried after them and out the front door.
The laundress appeared beside Honor. “I’m goin’ to my preacher. There be free blacks here in this city, and they will look too. She come to our church yesterday. Everybody know what she look like.”
“Stop!” The badged officer charged through the door from the kitchen. “We can’t have people taking the law into their own hands.”
Suddenly furious, Honor swung on him. “I will do whatever it takes to find my maid.”
The man looked aghast, his thoughts evident. A lady, speaking so forthrightly? “Your husband is the one who is responsible for the girl’s safety, not you,” he said harshly. “You’re just a woman.”
Honor had never been so tempted to slap someone. She held herself straight, unclenching her hands to sign what the man had said.
Samuel signed back. “Tell him if he talks to you like that again, I’ll teach him manners.” Then her husband raised a fist toward the officer.
The man stepped back but continued speaking belligerently. “Stop that black woman from leaving! We can’t have free blacks running through town. Except for going to and from work, they’re supposed to stay in their own neighborhood down by the wharf. This could start a riot.”
Honor glared at him. “It should start a riot when a free woman and a little child are kidnapped in broad daylight and all thy men will do is try to prevent their rescue. Is it thy job to aid lawless men?”
The officer glared in return. Reddening, he shoved past her.
Samuel grabbed him by the shoulder, shook him, and signed, “Show respect to my wife or deal with me. Now do your job or else!”
Honor translated.
The lawman yanked free with a resentful expression and hurried out of the inn.
“We can’t depend on him,” Samuel signed.
Honor embraced her husband. He had defended her. Then, grasping his hand, she ran toward the street, praying with every step.
Hours later, near dusk, Samuel still
felt the weight of failure. Why hadn’t he thought to keep Royale with them? Protecting his household was his job, and Royale was important to his wife. And Eli, his only blood kin left, had been taken too. He was just a little boy. Samuel’s heart clenched. What if they never saw his only brother’s only son again?
He now stood in a crude building near the wharf in a neighborhood called Little Africa. It was the African church Royale had attended, though nothing but a rough wooden cross hanging on the back wall looked church-like. At that moment he would have given anything to be able to hear what was being said. In the center of the room crowded with Quakers and free blacks, he and Honor were surrounded by a huddle of men, including that young Quaker, Coxswain, and the black preacher, Brother Ezekiel Langston.
Samuel focused on his wife’s moving hand. She stood within the circle and tried to keep him included in the exchange. Samuel suppressed his feelings of being of little use. His own needs weren’t important now. He had to focus on getting Royale and Eli back.
Honor turned to him, her expression one of despair. “Brother Ezekiel has called for men to hide in the shadows all along the wharf. They think that the slave catchers will wait till nightfall and then spirit her onto a boat to take her downriver to the Mississippi. She might be drugged, they say.”
“What about Eli?”
“They may take him, too. He can identify them.” Her fingers faltered. “I don’t want to think it, but they might hurt him.”
He felt sick. Did she mean—but couldn’t say—they might toss him overboard when they were away from town, get rid of the only witness? Or keep him to continue to force Royale into obeying them? “What can I do?”
“We will also take our place in the shadows. George Coxswain says a group of Friends, both men and women, will join us, lurking around the wharf and sounding the alarm if they see anything suspicious.”
“Why isn’t the law officer here?”
Honor looked disgusted. “They have issued a warrant for the arrest of the men and have put up a few posters about the kidnapping.”
“So you mean they have done nothing?”
“George Coxswain says the law doesn’t like having free blacks in the city and does little to help them.”
“What about Eli?” Samuel’s fingers slashed the air. “He’s not a free black.”
“Brother Ezekiel says that’s why the warrant has been issued and the posters put up at all. Otherwise they would do nothing to help.”
Samuel let out a breath. He wished the officer were here so he could pound him into the dirt floor beneath his feet.
The dandy hurried in and waved a stack of single sheets of newsprint.
Honor accepted one and scanned it. “Sinclair Hewitt has brought broadsheets about the kidnapping from the Centinel.”
Samuel took a sheet from her and read the brief account of the kidnapping. The paper called for all citizens to be on the watch for the mulatta with green eyes and the white boy of tender age. Samuel nodded his thanks to the man he had so resented.
One of the Quakers bowed his head for prayer and Samuel watched everyone do the same. A great heat roiled within Samuel’s chest. God, save them. Let us find them. Please.
The gathering dispersed, Quakers and free blacks in groups of twos and threes. Samuel felt Honor take his hand and lift it to her cheek. Her tenderness caught around his heart.
“Have faith. We will get them back.”
Samuel stared into her eyes and wished he could speak to her with words, pull her close, and reassure her. He’d been keeping himself apart from her, but suddenly that didn’t matter. He drew Honor to him and embraced her, trying to express all the concern and caring he felt. They each might lose someone dear to them.
He felt her sob once and then regain control. He released her and, taking her hand, led her outside into the twilight. He couldn’t pray. The fear and anger snuffed everything else out.
Night closed in, the shadows deepening, deepening. The cool, damp breeze flowing ashore from the river swirled around Honor’s ankles. Her eyes and ears strained for any sight or sound that might be a hint of Royale’s presence. Her stomach tightened into a knot of terror.
Samuel stood beside her, as tense as a tightly wound wire. She wished she could speak to him. But with only moonlight and the lamplight from windows along the quay and on board docked boats, she could not sign to him. They had already planned that if either saw anything, they were to shake the other and point in that direction.
A provocatively dressed woman walked past them and halted as if startled. Had she glimpsed Honor in the shadows of the alleyway? She leaned forward as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “What’s a lady doing down here at this hour?”
Honor waved her arms, shooing her away. She couldn’t let her presence be clarioned to the whole wharf. Indeed this was no place for a lady.
Down the street, a man burst out of a door as if propelled, tried to catch himself, and stumbled onto the wooden boardwalk. He began shouting in what must be a state of drunkenness. Two other men exited another tavern and headed toward Honor and Samuel.
The woman turned away and swayed in the direction of the two men. “Hey, gents, are you lonely?”
The coy invitation shocked Honor. A prostitute? She had never seen a woman of ill repute. Then Royale’s voice played in her mind: “Your grandfather be my father.” The reality that her grandfather had sexually used Royale’s mother sickened her. And now Royale remained at risk.
“The life they gon’ sell her into ain’t worth livin’.”
Honor pushed her senses up another notch, sorting through the sounds of inebriated laughter bursting from opening doors, of docked boats bumping against the wooden piers, of footsteps echoing on the planks. Royale, Royale, her mind chanted, where is thee?
The hours ticked by. Honor shifted on her feet and tried to stay alert. Her lower back began to ache. She blinked and drew in air. The night watchman walked past them, swinging a wooden baton. Honor didn’t breathe until he moved far from them. She wondered if he was even looking for Royale and Eli.
More time passed and Honor fought harder to remain awake. She awoke with a start, a hand over her mouth. She struggled but realized that it was Samuel’s hand. He put his fingers in front of her eyes. By the moonlight she could just make out the words. “You fell asleep.”
She scrubbed her face with her hands. Had Royale already been spirited away, or were the slave catchers holding her till the outcry died down? Even the alehouses were quieting as the alcohol did its numbing work. Royale and Eli in the hands of wicked men. Dread had lain in her stomach ever since they had disappeared, but now it swallowed her like a tidal wave. She pressed a hand to her head. Royale, why can’t I find thee?
OCTOBER 19, 1819
Just after dawn, Honor stumbled up the last few steps to their room at the inn. Samuel grasped her waist, steadying her. She was holding in tears, but a night spent without rest and thick with worry and fear had sucked everything from her. She felt hollow.
Samuel unlocked the door. Honor staggered to the bed and fell facedown, the repressed tears pouring forth in sobs she couldn’t contain. The bed dipped as Samuel lay down beside her and clasped her to him, and they wept together. She buried her face into his shirt, seeking his strength, his solace, sharing the grief.
Samuel woke, disoriented. He looked to his right. Honor rested beside him on their bed at the inn. Gray smudged the skin beneath her eyes. Her discarded bonnet lay near her head. Her hair had come loose from its pins and framed her face. My wife.
He could not restrain himself. He gently stroked her soft cheek with the back of his index finger. So soft. Her pale-pink lips beckoned him. His own tingled at the memory of the kiss that had sealed their marriage promises.
Then the guilt over Eli and Royale reared up, nearly choking him with regret. He should have been more watchful, less involved in himself and his worries. They must be found today.
Her eyes blinked open. He read hi
s name on her lips and then, “Any news?”
He shook his head.
She gripped his hands in hers and mouthed clearly for him to read: “We must keep faith.”
Honor glanced toward the door and signed that she heard tapping. She rose, opened the door, and conversed with one of the maids. She turned to him and signed, “There’s a man to see us downstairs.”
She moved to the mirror and ran a hand over her hair, snatching out the pins and letting it flow down around her shoulders. She did her best to put it up again, but Samuel knew that Royale always did her hair, and the thought must have stabbed her as well. Turning away from this, she shook out her skirt and attended to Samuel, straightening his collar and smoothing back his hair. She took his hand and led him down the narrow stairs.
Samuel expected George Coxswain, but instead a white-haired Quaker of considerable age awaited them. He signed hello to Samuel. Then Honor signed what he said: “I’m an elder of the meeting and want thee to know we’re behind thee. The women of our meeting are taking turns strolling down the quay with their older sons to run for help if need be. If they see anything suspicious, they will sound the alarm. The men will patrol tonight again. The kidnappers may think we will slacken our efforts with the passage of time. But they are mistaken. We will do all we can to find thy maid and boy. And we are united in prayer.”
Honor gazed at Samuel, her broken heart in her eyes.
Samuel had trouble swallowing and signed, “My thanks.”
The older man solemnly shook their hands and left them.
Honor walked to Samuel, and he wrapped his arms around her. Then she looked up and signed, “We will not give up till we have found them.”
Samuel nodded. He had found a wife who didn’t falter in the face of trouble. He bent and kissed her forehead. “We will find them.” As they walked to the stairs, she nestled under his arm.
OCTOBER 20, 1819
Another long night’s vigil at the wharf was nearly over. Leaning against the wall near the opening of the alley beside Samuel, Honor was giddy with exhaustion. The sounds of the dock were slowly fading as another dawn glowed gray over the rooftops to the east.
